Shannon sat up, her eyes wide open. She wasn't sure if she was awake or asleep. She looked around the room (dirty socks, cat puke in one corner, empty Miller cans, a laundry basket filled with clean clothes) and wished it was all unfamiliar. She looked at the man next to her. His back was smooth and tanned. A tiny mole winked at her from his left shoulder blade. She wished he was a stranger.
Shannon lay back down. The pillow was damp with sweat, her sweat. Had she been dreaming or coming out of a fever?
"Where are you...
Decked out in a tight green speedo, Charles swung open his screen door, strutted down the three concrete stairs into his dilapidated back yard and was instantly wet.
The rain occupied every inch of sky. Somewhere there must be sun, but not in Indiana. Charles watched the clouds slumber in their beds, unmoving. Now was noon though, and soon would be two PM. These were prime tanning hours, and how, how, did Charles need a tan.
Hosts of elder-cruises were always tan, and this being his first elder-cruise, he was going to be a tan host. As an elder himself...
The first thing I noticed about him was the shapes his mouth made when he spoke. He spoke in a language I didn't understand, but his voice was gentle and flowed over the foreign words like a lullaby.
His hands made shapes, too; complementing the stories he was telling, drawing invisible pictures in the air. Those hands had told a thousand stories, I think, brought alive by the emotion in his eyes.
I held those hands as he told me his final story. I listened with my heart to what my ears could not understand. I let the shapes of...
I have been frustrated for weeks. Can't come up with any ideas about 3d printers - articles or fiction I've been asked to write. Suddenly I realised a way around this. I sneaked out some brain matter from the lab at work and re-created objects on the machine that I then used in a way I cannot explain (for legal reasons). Hence I had my own neverending supply of ideas.
The website editor was beginning to get overwhelmed by the sheer volume and creativity I was producing on a daily basis. I managed his frequent questions as to where I...
It was an early morning on Wavelike Island. The water was crystal clear and the sky was grey. The water washed up against the shore, creating soothing sounds that echoed all around the Island. The rocks around the island grew more mouldy by the minute from the water crashing up against them. The trees in the distance swayed gently while the sky rumbled with the noise of an oncoming storm.
It started to rain, and a shape appeared in the sky, resembling a bird of some type. People from far away looked at the Island and saw the bird-like shape...
After a quick twist, the silver top was back on the salt shaker, diamonds hidden underneath the large white crystals and put back into the kitchen cupboard.
Simone Chandler didn't even break into a sweat. She turned around just as her husband strode into the room and shouted down the phone receiver. 'You better find those goddamn stones or else!'
'Still no sign Rory?' she asked, busying herself, pouring a strong cup of coffee and putting it onto the black marble worktop.
He didn't answer but gulped the scalding liquid, not seeming to notice the heat.
'I'll kill Johnson'.
Simone...
Green. Indubitably so. A vast expanse if it, spreading out to the horizon. Different shades breaking it up into sections. Lush, vibrant, light squares surrounded by dark borders.
I started running. Tearing through the blissful countryside, wind passing through my hair. I was free at last. Free to do anything I wanted.
I vaulted over a hedge, the chains on my feet ploughing the top. Faint sounds of barking came from far behind me. They were coming for me. Gotta go faster.
I found a road, hopped a fence over onto it and headed down the side, keeping my head...
One scoop chocolate, one scoop strawberry.
One scoop soil, one scoop blood.
One scoop of fear, one scoop of daring.
One scoop of regret, one scoop of happiness.
One scoop flesh, one scoop breath.
One scoop breath...
One scoop breath...
One scoop breath...
For more than one scoop blood
She’d never thought of herself as pretty. She was far too awkward for that, too uncomfortable in her own skin, too shy and retiring. Her features, if they drew comment (which in itself was rare) were declared unusual and unsettling. It was generally agreed that her eyes were too hooded and their shade too light. Half blind, they had a tendency to fix overly long upon you, after which they slowly fought to read and absorb your every detail, drinking you in. Defying social conventions, ignoring the boundaries of an individual’s space, their precious circle, they upset rather than pleased....
Augustine - certainly not a saint at this point in time - sat in the garden reading. According to the custom of the time, he read aloud. He read his new passion, the letters of St Paul and the Holy Gospels. Today he was reading in Galatians. Freedom was God's gift to the Christian. Augustine searched his heart and his body. He was not free. He was attached: attached to his mistress and his son, named ironically Deodatus (God's gift); he was attached to the enjoyment of sexuality; he was attached to his comfortable lifestyle. He was imprisoned by his...